


Take Your Pet to Work

by Venstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Cat Cafés, M/M, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Q Has a Cat, Rescue Missions, Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: Freshly returned from a mission gone wrong, James Bond uncovers a nefarious plot from an unusual suspect to take over Q branch and quite possibly kill him if he gets in the way to world domination. Will James Bond save the unsuspecting Quartermaster or will WORLD DOMINATION happen?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wilfling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilfling/gifts).



> \--big THANKS to my artist, Wilfling, who draws the MOST amazing arts and this one made me laugh when i saw it. the look on q's face, the look on bond's face. i'm super happy that Wilfling asked for a funny story. i had a lot of fun with this and i hope you do too!  
> \--thanks to @castillon02 for betaing like a whirling dervish at like one o'clock in the morning. sleep woman, sleep!

 

It was a fact, universally acknowledged, that an MI6 agent in possession of a double-oh status was in want of a sanity check. Or at least, that’s what some lower MI6 field agents would say in order to make themselves feel better for punking out and never qualifying for anything other than filling out paperwork, much less a double-oh status. They would waste their time dreaming of what it would be like to sip champagne in sunny Monte Carlo and have carte blanche with every damsel in distress, but nothing could be further than that imagined truth of what the job really was about. There was some champagne involved here and there, of course, but it was only used in heavy quantities to numb the senses, deliver poison, or bash someone over their fuckin’ head.

But I digress. Our focus turns to one agent, one double-oh who had his own trouble with alcohol and wasted moments, and who became involved in quite a strange and twisted tale. A Mr. James Bond, who was in want of a flat and a sanity check.

Mr. James Bond never quite recovered from that unlucky event, the day that Q adopted a cat.

What would make Q ever decide to adopt a cat? You see, the life of the position of the Quartermaster of MI6 was always equal parts hurry up and wait for life or for death. There was no in between. Sometimes the death was his own. A Quartermaster could last for years IF he was lucky, and if he was not so lucky...five minutes. There were also certain STRESSFUL aspects to the Quartermaster’s job that people purposefully left unexplored.

Except for Moneypenny, a lady with a steady trigger finger and a sharp tongue.

Now this elegant creature, who watched from the dark corners of Q branch, didn’t have murder on her mind...yet. But she did, in fact, have an idea blossoming within her mind. How to de-stress the Quartermaster. Plots and machinations passed fluidly and quickly through her mind and she discarded them one by one until she smiled cruelly and a little maniacally to herself in such a way that the many denizens of Q branch who passed her way shuddered. They followed her gaze to where it landed on Q, who was marching up and down the room talking to himself, and they crept away once they realized her intended target, for nothing good was going to come of asking Moneypenny what she was thinking. She launched herself forward, parting the sea of humanity to reach Q.

Q, a genius of incredibly quick wit and nimble fingers, never saw it coming.

This iteration of the Quartermaster was a young lad with scarecrow limbs and scarecrow hair. If there was a moment here and there in between, he was too busy trying to pass the monotony of waiting by trying to keep track of a sandwich that was continuously mistaken for a bomb, or a simple cup of tea that didn’t have any legs but would somehow manage to carry itself off. He could also be found standing by himself in the middle of the room, shouting to what seemed like no one in particular that he should ‘stop being a doubting prick and to listen to me before you get yourself killed or I’ll kill you.’ If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was talking to himself. Alas, there was a tiny earpiece lodged in one delicate ear, under that head of curly hair that was obscured by even the sharpest of eyes. Perhaps he was yelling at no one in particular and felt the need to berate SOMEONE who wasn’t there. No one really knew because no one really asked. There were certain quirks to the Quartermaster that were left better unexplored.

Moneypenny, however, saw the need to explore some of these quirks. She approached her target with grace and ease. “You should get out more, Q my dear. You’re beginning to grow mold on your loafers. What would the agents say?”

“That I have better things to do than waste time scraping mold off of them?” Q said absentmindedly before returning to his talking to no one. It’s how he got ideas out.

“I doubt that because then it would require you speak to one of them for longer than the two seconds you spend chastising them to bring back your equipment in one piece.” Moneypenny perched herself daintily on the edge of a desk, ignoring the minion trying to swallow his tongue because she had sat on the file he just needed at that moment. “And when have you ever displayed that depth of social interaction?”

Q ignored her.

“Darling, when was the last time you associated with another human outside of MI6?”

Q continued to ignore her. Mostly because he knew the answer to her question.

“That long, hmmm. You know that’s not healthy for you.” Moneypenny graciously lifted one bum cheek in order to allow the minion to retrieve his file. He thanked her profusely while stuttering. It was cute. It was quite like having pets, really. “Speaking of last times...when was the last time you were shagged? Properly?”

The minion holding the file squeaked and dropped it on his desk and stammered his way up and out of his chair, exiting the area as quickly as he could. He forgot where they exits were located and ended up hunkering down under someone else’s desk.

Moneypenny shrugged.

Q rubbed his eyes as Moneypenny lectured him again about his social life...or lack of social life. Something that regularly occurred three times a week at half past noon and sometimes up to five if Moneypenny was enduring a tediously boring work week full of paperwork and a lack of lethal action. It was during those weeks that Q snuck in through the back way to Q branch. Best not to disturb the disturbed. Today Q had been caught and now, well, now he was tired and giving back the best he could, which wasn’t much after a 36-hour stint of trying to keep stubborn agents alive.

“When, Moneypenny, when? When do I have time to go out and do these things that you suggest I do? When do you suggest I pencil in a long walk along the Thames with a bloke that is interested in more than just a quick shag? When should I take in the museums with a hot lad before asking him to tie me up and have his way with me? Hmm? Hmm? When? Here, show me.” Q yanked his tablet off a table and waved it at her. “Here.” He pulled up his schedule and showed it to her.

Not to be deterred or intimidated by the impossible, Moneypenny yanked the tablet and his stylus from him and thumbed through his calendar.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Moneypenny, there’s no time!” Q shouted at the top of her head. He let out a sigh. She meant well, that meddlesome lady.

“I shall make time.” Moneypenny walked away with his tablet, continuing to search through it.

Q chased after her, haranguing her to just give it up, there was no way he was going to go out with some noob she managed to find and thrust upon him.

“So you’d prefer a known? Hmmm, interesting.” Moneypenny walked faster, her stilettos clicking swiftly across the floor, leaving the nearly empty sector and entering the main bullpen. Minions who scurried out of her way decided that now would be a most excellent time to ask Q fifty million questions. The more minions she passed, the more he was slowed down.

Q glared at the back of her elegant figure as it swanned through the minions who seemed to be magnetically attracted to him. She was doing this on purpose, he knew it.

“You’re not really a dog person, are you? Not even an old dog?” Moneypenny asked, pausing in her walk, she looked over her shoulder at Q.

“Dear God in heaven, no. What would I do with an old dog?” Q asked, his brows furrowing at the question, his lip nearly curling in a snarl.

“Teach him new tricks?”

Q blinked in confusion at Moneypenny’s odd humor. He waved a minion away and ran a hand through his hair, which was already sticking up in ten different ways. Where was his brush? “I do not want a dog, how would I find the time to take care of a dog? They’d need to be walked constantly!”

“Which would be healthy for you, and it’d keep an old dog from going fat in the middle.” She poked him in the belly with his stylus.

Q glared at the stylus as if it had personally betrayed him and then at Moneypenny who was personally betraying him as they spoke. “No dogs. Not even old ones.”

“Good to know.” Moneypenny continued on her walk, his stylus in her hand scribbling away madly. “What about old men?”

“I say. What are you up to?” Q dodged two more minions and ran to catch up with her.

“Finding you a perfect date.”

“Moneypenny, no!” Q snatched his tablet back and stared in premeditated horror at what he was about to see. Some hideous dating profile with her having pretended to be him as she slipped into strangers’ DMs, flirting with them. “Not a dog person! Moneypenny, please don’t attach me to a stranger with dogs.”

“Why?” Moneypenny asked, hips sashaying as she walked away. “He could warm your bed and walk your dog while you laze around in bed, in a post-orgasmic haze.”

A minion gasped and turned pink at her words.

“Moneypenny, shush, not in front of the children!”

“Oh, this is perfect!” Moneypenny pressed his tablet with a certain finality.

A cloud of doom settled around Q’s heart. “Nooooo-oh. Oh. What have you done.” He stopped mid-stride and his foot hung in the air awkwardly for a half a second before he fell against a nearby table when he lost his balance.

“You have a date this evening. I’ve scheduled it. Annika’s Mobile Cat Cafe. All cats are available to cuddle with or adopt. Expect the first cat when the bell tolls one.” Moneypenny grinned at him before disappearing into the lift as it magically binged open at the right time, spilling replacement minions from it and absorbing a maniacally laughing Moneypenny.

Q was left to gawp at her, having nothing else to say really, except, “Oh damn.”

Moneypenny had been good to her word and he did have an appointment.

The cat cafe van puttered up near headquarters; thankfully Moneypenny knew better than to send a caravan full of strange people and cats to his flat. Security nearly had a conniption fit of hilarity as they rang for Q to come up and meet the cat cafe hostesses.

“Hostesses…” Q mumbled. He slunk out under the watchful, mirthful eyes of security with the hostess to the colorful cat van idling at the curb. He stood at the doorway, mouth open.

The cheerful hostess waved him in. “Come in! All cats are for petting or adopting!”

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Q muttered as he took the steps up into the body of the caravan.

Inside it was warm and filled with purrs, meows and the occasional yowl. Q bent down to peer at what was on offer, indecisiveness causing him to chew on his bottom lip. Oh damn, how to choose. He spent a few minutes trying to decide when the hostess graciously reminded him that he could spend time with all of them during his reservation. Q nodded happily, wordlessly, and the hostess laughed and began to open the enclosures. Bit by bit, the curious felines slipped out and found their way to the new person in their midst.

“Hello!” Q said and knelt down, stroking back after back after back. Striped coats, solid coats, tawny coats, splotchy coats, sleek coats, fluffy coats all passed under his fingertips. It was one great hulking grey beast that Q kept coming back to. It seemed to have a preference for him, pressing through the others to continually reach him, sometimes even batting at another cat who got too close or was going to interrupt for pets and hissing. “Here now, there’s more than enough of me to go around,” Q murmured softly. The adorable beast tilted its chin up and purred, allowing Q to pet it under his chin.

“Ah,” the hostess said, a funny look on her face. “That is Gorgo.”

Q snorted. “Gorgo, what kind of name is that?”

The hostess shrugged. “No idea, he came named that way. We think because he’s a fat little pud.” She squatted down next to Q to pet Gorgo. She tentatively stretched her hand out to pet him. “Isn’t he a fat little pud, who’s a good widdle pud?” Gorgo seemed to allow the petting, but he crept slowly away from her hand, to wind his way to the other side of Q.

“He’s beautiful,” Q said, his eyes still on the fluffy grey floofball.

“Isn’t he? He’s also a bit of a troublemaker, that one.” She frowned down at Gorgo, who hissed up at her finally. “Be nice.”

Q raised his eyebrows and laughed. “I’m sure he is being nice. I know people like that, all of them troublemakers with more bark than bite, or in this instance, meow than bite.”

The hostess rose up and moved away to pet the other cats begging for attention. “Yes, well this troublemaker is an escape artist. Sometimes we find him roaming the van or out in the adoption center making himself comfortable on someone’s desk. Silly pud.”

“Hmm, sounds like he’s quite smart.” Q smoothed over the fur one more time, the color familiar to him, a light grey he’d once seen stained with blood.

“Yes, too smart. We’ve had to install several different locks to his cage, but he always finds a way out. Well, time is winding down. How would you like to end your evening?” She crouched down next to him. Gorgo butted his head against Q again. Q lifted the heavy beast in his arms and the purring grew even louder.

“Well, I think I have to have him.”

The hostess clapped her hands, possibly a little too eagerly, but the cat seemed nice enough. “Brilliant, he is a wonderful pud!” She reached out to ruffle Gorgo’s head, but he growled at her. She pulled her hand back. “You be nice, he’s going to take you home.” As if he understood, Gorgo let out a strange series of rusty meows that sounded quite like a laugh or motor sputtering to life. He remained still and peaceful as Q held him while the hostess printed out the paperwork for him to sign.

“Can I rename him?” Q asked before the paperwork was completed.

“Of course you can! He may not respond the first few times if you try something completely new, but he’ll get used to it. I have to leave the name we gave him on the paperwork, but once that’s done, you’re free to rename him as you like! Just don’t forget to update it with the vet once you’ve made your decision.” With the exchange of the adoption fee and a flourish of the hostesses own signature, Q was the new owner of a fat, grey, fluffy cat.

The hostess smiled up at him. “There you go! One Gorgo kitty all to yourself! Thank you for your business!” She produced a piece of cardboard that folded into a temporary carrier cage and reached out to take Gorgo from him. Gorgo hissed and bared his teeth at her.

“I’ll do it,” Q said, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. He coughed to cover his amusement at Gorgo’s reaction and with ease placed the fat kitty into its a temporary home. “Now, be good, Mr. Jinx, and I’ll introduce you to your new minions.” The newly named Mr. Jinx let out a loud yowl before settling down and letting out a rippling, continuous purr, as if he were happy to have minions. “They’ll love you.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t too long after Moneypenny had arranged a small tete-a-tete with the Cat Cafe, that Mr. James Bond was soon tied up, so to speak on his mission. He’d been sent out to aid in the defection of a top Russian general who had intel from his decades on the job, where he spent years making himself useful, doing as he was told. Killing as he was instructed and committing war crimes when ordered. General Koskov was a hardened man. He had done his job, lived his government constructed and constrained life, and now, he was making his move.

James could admire him, just a little bit. If he had ended up in Koskov’s position, he’s not sure if he would have made it that long. After his initial briefing about the mission, M accompanied him down to Q branch, where Q promptly informed Bond, in his charmingly geeky deadpan way, that Koskov wasn’t much older than Bond, however he managed to look way younger. Quite similar actually. Q had pointed out the blond hair and blue eyes the men shared. 

M had considered the screen after Q had pulled up both pictures. “Interesting,” M said. He had tapped his finger with his lips. “The likeness, not your bickering.”

“How so?” Q asked. He looked up, slightly confused and red-faced to be caught teasing.

James remained silent. He knew where this was going.

“I wonder if maybe we should simply replace the good General with one of our own?” M had turned to James. He knew it. This M was different than the former. She would have been more “get in and get your arse out, no risks.” This one wanted to swap him.

James merely shrugged. “It won’t be the first time I’ve ‘replaced’ someone as they made their escape. Do you think my Russian is up for it?”

M considered him. “Mmm, it’s been awhile hasn’t it?”

Q snorted. “Your Russian is impotent and you know it. You’d last five minutes.”

“Ah,” James said, “But with you giving me a hand to get through, how long do you think you could keep me up and going?” It was such a joy to see Q’s face go red and annoyance flare up behind his eyes. M coughed into his hand.

“Cheeky bastard. You wish I would handle you personally.”

R spun around in her chair, her eyes laser-like on James and a horrific Grinch smile filled her face. “Russia is my territory. R is for Russia. I’d be handling you, personally…and I can make a man suffer so long in my hands. So long.” She flexed her fingers and then closed them into tight fists before flipping up her middle fingers.

M coughed even louder. “ANYWAY, 007, you’re to enter Russia and assist General Koskov with his defection. Your mission?” M walked to where 007 was standing, just behind Q. He leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Don’t cock it up.” He pulled back and exited Q branch.

R clapped slowly and steadily, and with such sarcasm. “What a pep talk. You know, this M is really growing on me. Come on 007, let’s get your cock ready to fuck shit up.” 

“R,” Q sighed tiredly. “We’ve talked about this.”

“About what? The Penis of Power?”

“R.”

“The Cock of the Walk?”

“R.”

“The Dick of the Prick?”

“R.”

“You have names for it?” James asked, watching the odd ping-pong verbal game that Q and R were engaged in it.

R jabbed him in his upper shoulder. “See, I told you he was gender neutral. Means he likes them both, doesn’t it? I mean it means ‘it’ likes them both.” She patted James on his hip and walked away. He and Q watched her sashay past the workstations.

“She scares me sometimes,” James said.

Q puffed out a sigh. “Yeah, me too. Anyways, take yourself off and follow her, she will be handling this mission. Try not to give her a hard time, or else I’ll have to deal with her and I make it a point never to have to deal with her.”

“Come along, Bond!” R yelled out from across the room. “Let’s get you stocked back up on those bulletproof condoms you love so much!” Her voice reverberated around the room and a smattering of snickering could be heard from the bullpen.

James leaned into Q’s space. “Surely that’s sexual harassment?”

Q peered at James from behind his spectacles. “You’re going to accuse R of sexual harassment?” 

James pulled back a little bit and thought for a half second. He started walking in R’s direction, hoping to cut her off before she got too full of herself and continued her teasing. “Asexual harassment? Is that a thing?” HA, he got a smile out of Q.

Q shook his head. “Move it, Bond.”

Well, Russia was Russia all over again. Why was it that nothing ever seemed to go right in that bloody country? He’d managed, with R, to get Koskov almost to the rendezvous point, with little to no fuss, when a Russian assassin named Necros showed up, hell-bent on capturing them and returning Koskov to the fold or killing him on site. Bond could CLEARLY hear R swearing up a blue streak in his earwig once they had been cornered.

“I will fucking hijack a satellite with a laser beam on it. Fuck sharks, I’ve got a satellite, tell them, Bond. Tell them!”

James said nothing. He was being held at gunpoint by Necros and R was being held at Q point.

“Don’t you dare,” Q said, into the mic. Now there were two of them in his ear. He winced as they wrestled for control.

“This isn’t helpful,” Bond muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“R, do not. 007, I’ve got your last coordinates. I’m sending a retrieval team in. E.T.A thirty minutes.” He went silent as he waited for Bond to answer him. “007, acknowledge.”

“Okay.” Bond said this out loud, hoping Q would take it as affirmation and the traitorous ally would think he was talking to them.

“Keep me with you?” Q asked softly, however, Necros stalked forward and ripped out his earwig, threw it on the floor, and crushed it beneath his boot heel. Q was gone, as was R. Maybe she would convince Q to let her have the satellite now.

Now, how far he could get himself out of this mess before Q managed to send in the retrieval team. Bunch of jokers. There was a ringing in his ears, blood dripping from a cut on his cheek and dust coating his hair. He was on, what was it? Round number three of physical intimidation after they’d moved him to a secondary location. He glanced into the two-way mirror that separated him from his captors. Tedious. He flexed his wrists and curled a finger until he could reach the Q-branch issued watch. At least they had given him a proper chair to sit in. One that didn’t have the ability to have its underside ripped out. His balls could only take so much of a beating. They’d only struck him around the torso and head this time. Not like he had many brain cells left, or so Q and M kept telling him. He smiled and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. His teeth were pink with blood and there was a bit of shine under his nose, from where he had a bit of snot dripping from his nose. Whatever. Looks aren't everything, or so he kept lying to himself. At least he wasn’t naked or wet...yet. 

He sighed again as he found the small lockpick in his watch. There was always a process of escalation. Scare tactics, beatings, electric shock, waterboarding, electric shocks while being waterboarded. That was always a fun one and then ooh the cutting off of body parts. That was super fun. He started to laugh. Excellent, his captors had seen and heard him giggling his arse off and there were footsteps in the hall, he could see the shadows under the door. He settled back to wait and unlock the cuffs holding him.

“Ah, Mr. Bond. You find something funny?” Necros nearly purred as he approached Bond, sitting slouched in his chair. He kicked his feet and it brought a jolt of pain up through that leg. Was his knee just really bruised or had it been dislocated? Undetermined. He’d have to put weight on it to see.

Bond winced from that rocking pain before he answered. “Yes, actually.”

“Care to share with the class?” Necros put his hand to the back of Bond’s chair and tilted it back. Well, that didn’t feel good, his knee twinged again from the movement.

Bond took a moment to answer him. “Hmmm, if I did, then it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?” He grinned up at his captor.

Necros let go of the chair and it slammed back down where it had originally been. 

Ow.

Necros crossed his arms in front of his chest and pretty much pouted down at Bond. “You have a secret, Mr. Bond? How delightful. Perhaps you would like to share it with me?”

Bond waggled his eyebrows. “I would be delighted. I would have to whisper it though, the walls have ears and you wouldn’t want them to hear it, would you?” He glanced to the gentlemen who had done most of the beating who were milling about in the doorway.

Necros glanced back at them and then back to Bond, before raising a hand to study his nails. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint off a nail. “No, I think not. Is it a good secret?”

“A very good secret. Do you know why Koskov was defecting?”

“I know many things, Mr. Bond. Perhaps I know this already.”

Bond shrugged, his shoulders barking at him for the movement. “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t. If you did, we wouldn’t still be having this conversation. You see, research and development are really, really good at secrets...and satellites.”

“Oh, ho! Well then, Mr. Bond, enlighten me to this secret about satellites.”

The fool stepped forward, blocking Bond’s view of the henchmen at the door, but bringing himself stupidly close to Bond’s chair. When he was within arms reach, Bond surprised him with a quick left hook and right uppercut, stunning him with the first blow and knocking him on his arse with the second. He spat out blood onto the still figure. “I got out of my handcuffs. How’s that for a secret.” 

The men in the doorway charged at him and the umpteenth fight for his life was on. Hopefully, he would end up the victor and not the spoils.


	3. Chapter 3

The retrieval team had finally arrived at Bond’s last known location, but there was no sign of 007, just a trail of bloody bodies strewn about the floor. Q recognized the work. Bond had been pissed and had killed them a bit sloppily. He was injured. Q put his nose to the grind and forced his minions to take on the other 00’s that were in the field as he searched for 007.

“004 knows how to find his rendezvous point. He doesn’t need ME to personally tell him.” Q glanced up and met the hapless minion’s eyes with his own green laser-like stare. “Tell him he was hired to think, not to waste my resources. You were hired because of your ability to communicate to an agent HOW to get to point A, and if you can’t tell him that or find it for him, then perhaps I need to discuss 004’s and your continued employment at MI6 with M?”

The poor minion stuttered and stammered out a, “N-o-oo, sir. I’ve go-oo-t it.” The minion scurried off and Q could hear him hissing into his headset at 004. They would both learn to read a fucking map, or Q would have someone’s head. 

He got back to work, tracking Bond down. The retrieval team was starting to make wild goose chase noises and Q had to threaten them with a roasting if they abandoned the search. There was a valuable asset on the loose and he needed to be retrieved. “WHICH IS WHAT YOU’RE PAID FOR AND IF I HAVE ANOTHER MI6 EMPLOYEE WHINING ABOUT WHAT IS EXPECTED OUT OF THEIR JOB DESCRIPTION THEN I WILL FIRE THEM ON THE SPOT. IS THAT CLEAR?” He paused and waited. The lead agent on the team mumbled something into his mic. “I’m going to take that as a yes and if you give me any more trouble I will take this to M directly, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was surly, but Q would take it. Honestly, when did MI6 become full of children? He pushed his glasses back up his nose for the nth time and began again. He took over any CCTV available and not available to him. 

“R, put the Goldeneye satellite back,” Q said for the umpteenth time.

“But it belongs to the Russians!” R protested. This was the third satellite she had hijacked, remaining true to her original threat.

“I will lock you out of the system.”

“They don’t care. They’d turn it on themselves eventually. I bet this generation doesn’t even remember they have it. I can hijack and make it look like it had a technical glitch and misfired and then threw itself out of its orbit.” R cracked her knuckles and then steepled them menacingly in front of her.

Q glanced up at the ceiling and cracked a couple of vertebrae in his neck. He wished he could crack other people’s vertebrae, but he had to maintain some level of professionalism. “Put it back.”

R grumbled, but she let go of the Goldeneye satellite. “Fine. I’ll find another satellite though, watch me.”

Q shook his head; he had no doubt. He returned to his work and eventually, a few hours later, he had managed to find 007, with the help of R and her penchant for hijacking satellites. He may have yelled at her and she may have ignored it. At least this time she used it for its ‘zoom’ capability. Even Bond’s own ingenuity had helped them. He had managed to escape his captors, leaving a bloodbath behind him, but he was in pretty rough condition when the team found him. They had to sedate him, he was out of his head with pain, concussed and literally had murder on his mind. He may have injured a few of the retrieval team before they were able to take him down. 

“Tranq him!” Q yelled into his headpiece. “For God’s sake, just jam it in him, what are you waiting for?” From his perspective, watching the shitstorm happen from a local CCTV feed, the team looked between each other. “Do you honestly want to go out like this? He’s not a toy. He’s not there for you to see whether or not you could take on a double-oh. You can’t. Not this one. I’m recording. You’ll have your boss to answer to and I’ll gladly show them this footage. Put a dart in him now and bring him in. I’m watching.” 

The team made eye contact with the camera before one of them actually used their real brains and loaded a medical grade tranquilizer and shot while Bond was distracted by trying to break the neck of one of their members. His body bowed backward and he let go of his victim. He yanked the dart out and ran towards the team, who Q will always remember squealed like a bunch of little girls at the sight.

“AGAIN!” Q yelled into his mouthpiece. 

It took the only sane member of the group a moment to reload and follow Q’s direction. He watched as Bond staggered slowly as if through golden syrup and eventually sunk to his knees, glaring at the man who shot him, fire in his eyes lighting them up until he finally was dragged sullenly into unconsciousness. 

Q let a breath out. “Finally.” He blasted out a few orders. “Retrieve him. Get him medical assistance and send him home, STAT. If I find any more marks on him than what I’ve recorded, you’ll all find yourself suddenly without funds, a name, a country or family. Q out.” He ended transmission and leaned forward onto his desk, slamming his hands down on it. 

R clapped her hands slowly behind him.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

“Bravo, old chap. I can always snag the Goldeneye again, if you want.”

Q rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No, R. Thank you, that’ll be all. I have an appointment. Q out.”

“You’re not on headset anymore, idiot. Go home. Get rest. Get laid.”

Q didn’t even bother to answer. He just glared at R as he walked out, attempting to maintain his dignity. Bond had been retrieved and R was in charge of Q branch, God help them all when he returned. Q winced at the thought of introducing Mr. Jinx to Bond. Hopefully Bond’s suits wouldn’t suffer much damage while Mr. Jinx adjusted to his new environment.

Bond arrived, a little worse for wear, from Russia. The retrieval team were a little twitchy. Q wondered if M would have to redistribute them after the trauma retrieving Bond had caused them. He had little time to spare for thoughts of Bond as another mission took immediate precedence and the man was left to his own devices.

Bond presented himself directly to M as soon as he was able, which was late in the evening. M must have been getting ready to go home. The meeting didn’t quite go as expected. 

“Reporting for duty.” Those dry, robotic, few words had M pausing at what he was writing before looking up at Bond. Bond tried to sneak in a peak at the upside down mess of scribbling, but was unable to decipher it. It looked like he was going to have to work on his deciphering illegible handwriting upside down skills before he went back out into the field. He returned his eyes forward as M spoke.

“Is that so?” M asked as he folded his hands together and looked him up and down. “And what ‘duty’ do you think you are ready for?” M’s voice was soft when he spoke. No anger, no hard flintiness, just a casual tone from one man to another.

“Active duty.” Bond kept his eyes forward, his posture military straight. It hurt, but he wasn’t about to show signs of weakness to an enemy and that meant those in the workplace, the home front or abroad. It was M that had the ability to send him back out and it was Bond who had the ability to fool him into sending him out before he was ready...if he was lucky.

“Ah. I see.” M leaned back in his chair and studied Bond for a few brief seconds before turning to gaze out his window. The remnants of the old MI6 stronghold were long gone, but his eyes moved over the outline of where it would have been. “You know, some things require a longer time to heal.”

Bond tipped his head to the side in a silent acknowledgment. “So they say.”

“Hmph. So they say. Well, I say you’re not ready.” M turned back to his desk and picked up the pen he had set down after Bond’s announcement. “Debrief, return your equipment to Q branch and take some time off. The world will still be in trouble when you come back.”

“Time off?” Bond asked, he finally tipped his chin down to stare at M with some confusion. Time off meant time to think, time to get soft, and time to make mistakes. 

“Yes,” M said as he kept writing. “Time off. It means go home, rest, and then come back.”

“I don’t understand.” 

M gave an audible sigh through his nose this time. “Bond. I’m not reinstating you to active duty. Heal, for Christ’s sake.” M snagged a thick file from the left of his desk and held it up. A row of random numbers flashed before him on the manila tab. “This is your medical file. Do you know what it says?” He didn’t wait for Bond to answer, he flipped it open and began reading from it. “You’ve got a concussion, broken ribs, a busted eardrum, petechiae from the water torture, electrical burns, multiple scrapes, and contusions, I mean look at your face. You are not ready to come back and take another beating.”

“I’m perfectly ready to go back into the field,” Bond said quietly, glad that he had left the cane medical had thrust on him before leaving, not to mention the indignity of being wheeled out to a waiting cab in the rain.

“As what? A punching bag? Take the time off, pass the reinstatement tests properly. Don’t think I don’t know what your scores were before the Skyfall incident. SHE may have been able to lie to you, but hard copies are a real thing. Dismissed.” M tossed the file down onto the desk. Post it notes fluttered to the floor at the disturbance, all bearing M’s atrocious handwriting. 

Bond had no room to argue with M at that point. He marched with as much dignity as his limp and still healing wounds allowed him. Moneypenny grinned up at him as he passed her desk. She winked and said, “See you around, old dog. There’s a car waiting for you out front. Just tell them the address.”

He turned with more grace than even he expected and gave her a teeny little smile. A small place of affection for her was buried at the very corner of the heart some said he didn’t possess. “Certainly, Miss Moneypenny.” She shooed him away with a flick of her hand and a bright laugh. 

The car drove him exactly where he wanted to go, home. He opened the door and toed off his shoes and walked past the small kitchen. He paused just as he got past the entrance to the homey little space and leaned back, peeking around the corner. There was a giant, fluffy grey cat perched on the top of the table with its back to him, licking its leg and looking for all the world as if it were playing the cello. He cleared his throat and the cat’s head lifted up.

Meow?

Bond’s shoulders heaved. Q must have gotten a cat while he was away.

Meow.

He walked up to it and held his and out. “Well, what’s your name then?”

Meow.

The cat stretched up sniffed his fingers and then bumped along his hand, purring. Bond could see the glint of a tag hanging down from the collar. He moved slowly until he could tilt it just so. “Mr. Jinx.” One blond eyebrow winged up. “Well, if that’s not a villain-in-training name, then I don’t know what is.”

Meow.

Bond watched as the cat jumped off the table and sauntered away somewhere into the depths of the flat. He shook his head and decided why yes, he would take M’s advice and rest. A shower, a shave and a decent night’s sleep next to Q and he would all be sorted. His last thoughts before his head hit the pillow were ow and how to get M to reinstate him faster.


	4. Chapter 4

Bond found himself staring at a bank of elevators at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. He shrugged and decided to descend into the depths of MI6 and see what the Quartermaster was up to. Perhaps return the few pieces of tech he had managed to salvage and see if anything needed to be shot at. Preferably live targets. He entered the lift with a flock of secretaries and other paper pushers. They seemed to try and give him a wide berth, but there wasn’t much space for them to not look so obvious. 

“Um, floor, sir?” one of the more considerate paper pushers asked him as she held her hand above the control panel. He shook his head as the numbers swam before him. Christ, his concussion was a real thing.

“Q branch.”

She nodded her head and pressed the control panel and Bond felt the car descend and the people around him talked softly about the latest office gossip, budgetary concerns and vacation time. He let it wrap around and sooth his headache away until he was the last one left in the lift as it pinged for the sub-level Q branch was located.

As always, Q branch was in a state of organized chaos. Minions scurried about, some with lunch, some with mugs, others with dismantled explosives, and a couple were performing first aid on one another. There was yelling, hushed speaking, and hair pulling. One minion was jumping up and down, swiftly erasing a whiteboard that was coated in a tangle of equations, code, measurements—whatever it was, Bond only caught snatches of it before it was all gone. The same minion started up again scribbling furiously. How each minion managed not to run into another one, Bond didn’t know. It must have something to do with the natural gravity and physics prevalent in Q branch. Or magic, he thought to himself. Normally, Bond preferred a quieter, more organized environment, but there was something so chaotically charming and relaxing about seeing Q branch at its busiest time of the day. 

“NO, 004, I DID NOT SAY TO STEAL THE AMBASSADOR’S YACHT! THEY CAN TRACK IT!” One of the minions jumped up from his seat and waved his arms around like a windmill—as if 004 would ever listen to a talking windmill. “GET OUT OF THAT BOAT NOW!” The minion slammed himself back down into his chair. “STOP LAUGHING. YOU’RE AN AGENT OF HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE, NOT A PETTY THIEF!” Apparently, 004 wasn’t going to get out of the boat. Bond smiled to himself; he wouldn’t either if the handler ‘handling’ him was going to be soooo entertaining.

“They’re amusing when they’re riled, aren’t they?” A purring voice spoke up from behind Bond.

He turned with a small smile on his face, to address the speaker, but no one was there. Surely, someone had spoken to him. He glanced slowly around; perhaps they had moved off, but he didn’t think he had been that unobservant. His eyebrows lowered into a suspicious frown.

“You know, for a highly respected operative with a penchant for managing to stay alive, you’re rather slow, aren’t you? Hmm, well that’s good.” The voice spoke again and something bumped against Bond’s leg.

Bond stumbled at the movement, his bad knee buckling for a moment, and he dropped to the floor, hissing at the motion, and found himself face to face with a great, fat, fluffy grey cat that was watching him. The cat’s tail twitched back and forth as they sat there in a face off. The cat lifted its paw and gave it a delicate lick. There was something oddly familiar in the motion, but he wasn’t a cat person and once entering the service, pets were a luxury he could ill afford. Gone all the time, he’d have to trust someone to enter his flat to take care of it. The cat licked its leg again, interrupting his thoughts as it spoke. “As I said, you’re rather slow. Had I been the enemy, I would have gotten the jump on you.” The cat set its paw back on the ground and wiggled its behind as if preparing to actually jump on him. 

“What?” Bond asked. All he could get out was the one word, and he shook his head. He must be more concussed than he thought if he was imagining a talking cat. Perhaps M was right. The cat began to wind itself around his leg, shedding grey hair all over the fine fabric.

“Ooh, that’s lovely. You have good taste at least. Perhaps you will be useful.” The cat settled down on its haunches in front of Bond and wrapped its tail around its body. “Big, slow, and well dressed. Oh, I like you, you’d make an excellent henchman. What’s your typing speed?”

Bond still stared at it in silence. The cat looked delighted. 

“Good, yes. I suspect that taking over MI6 will be easier than expected if you happen to be the best they have to offer.” The cat began to purr, its eyes closed in satisfaction.

“Take over MI6?” All Bond could do was repeat what the cat was saying, because cats don’t speak. “Are you a robot?” This must be something Q branch cooked up while he was gone. 

The cat laughed, and it was a terrible sound. “You are adorable. I’m no more a robot than a Roomba is a cat. Well, SOME of us aren’t blessed with genius IQs.”

“Who is operating you?” Bond squinted at the cat, trying to look at the collar hidden within the fluff of its neck. “Is that you, R? Having a bit of a laugh?” He looked over Q branch. Someone must be operating this thing from a distance. New spy gear? Good lord, he hoped they weren’t going to start issuing cats in their kit now.

“I am operating myself and soon I’ll be operating MI6 and then the world!” The cat laughed maniacally and Bond thought surely this must be R.

“Very funny, R. Now, where can I find Q. I have the equipment to return.” He spoke directly into the cat’s collar. The cat only laughed again and pushed itself up onto all four paws. It walked slowly and delicately around Bond.

“Oh, this is too much fun. My dear Mr. Bond. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Jinx and I am here for a glorious purpose. I have found my way into the Quartermaster of MI6’s home, his bed and now his workplace. I am everywhere and I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” Mr. Jinx hissed at Bond and swiped at his ankle, causing him to jerk back.

That sounded just like something R would say. Bond poked the cat, expecting to feel something hard and cold. Instead, it was soft and NOT cold and looked as if it were actually breathing. He poked it again and the cat hissed.

“007, are you poking my cat?” Q’s voice came from behind Bond.

“What?” Bond turned and looked up at Q, who stood there imperiously, his hands on his hips. 

“Are you poking my cat?” Q repeated the question again, slower this time.

“Yes?” He poked the cat one more time. “It’s a very good imitation of a real cat. Is this R’s doing? Where are the speakers?” Bond moved to lift the cat up, but instead, it arched its back and hissed at him. He soon found himself the bearer of fresh cat scratches across the back of his hand. “OW!”

Q bent down and picked up the horrid robot beast. “Serves you right. Mr. Jinx is NOT a robot. Honestly Bond, how hard were you hit on the head?” He cradled the big fat grey monstrosity in his arms.

“That is not a real cat. Real cat’s don’t talk!” Bond pointed at Mr. Jinx. 

“Of course real cats don’t talk, don’t be silly.” Q stroked Mr. Jinx from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. “Was the big scary double-oh agent scaring you, darling?” 

“Well then, if he wasn’t talking, then someone was speaking through him. Where’s his speaker?” Bond reached out to Mr. Jinx, attempting to search, but Q slapped his hand away as Mr. Jinx hissed.

“Stop that. There’s no speaker on him, it’s just a cat, Bond, or can’t you tell?” Q’s eyebrows drew together and pinched the skin in between. “Are you alright?”

“Perfectly.” Bond glared at the cat. It HAD spoken. “Someone’s just playing a joke on me, I suppose.”

Q sighed through his nose. “If I find out who it is, I’ll be sure to give them a proper punishment. Now, you’re not back on active duty, nothing’s come through my email, so what did we do to deserve the punishment of a visit?”

“Returning my equipment.” Bond carefully and slowly made his way back up to his feet. Q watched him with worry in his eyes and the damn cat just purring away in his arms. 

“Very well, since everyone else is busy, I’ll take it. Follow me.” Q walked away to his office in the far corner. He shifted Mr. Jinx until the cat was looking over his shoulder at Bond.

“Soon, Mr. Bond. Very soon this will all be mine,” Mr. Jinx said softly, his claws kneading slowly and menacingly into Q’s shoulder, digging through the thick cardigan and shirt until Q’s shoulder spasmed at the feel.

“Ow! That’s enough, Mr. Jinx,” Q said, reaching absentmindedly for the cat’s paws.

“Soon,” Mr. Jinx purred.

The hair on the back of Bond’s neck stood on end.


	5. Chapter 5

Bond had belligerently taken the time off as M suggested, with good intentions, but he was shit at following orders. His alarm had rung; he had glanced at it with his one good eye, the numbers made fuzzy with sleep, and turned it off. He’d eventually gotten up, done his physical therapy exercises while cursing like a housewife before D-day, and finally ended up as a sore, hungry and cranky ball of James Bond. “Fuck.” He peeled himself the floor and rose to go find whatever he had on hand to make coffee and some sort of breakfast with. Thankfully, he kept whole beans and a grinder handy for these moments. He sighed into his fridge. It was empty, save for the lone log of butter. Well, toast it would be then. He’d had worse. Crap. He hung his head. He had bread, but it was in the freezer and it hadn’t thawed yet. Hmm well. He tapped his fingers against the counter. “Fuck it.”

Thirty minutes later and he was showered and dressed to kill in a freshly pressed bespoke suit, no cane in sight, and he was tying his tie as he strode out the door to the waiting car. He was promptly driven and delivered to one of his favorite bakeries near MI6, which was also next door to a fantastic cozy little coffee shop. He could have gotten his usual order of one chocolate croissant and one coffee and gone back to his flat to recuperate some more, but boredom mixed with curiosity reared its ugly head, so he asked for three croissants.

He was going to just get two at first. One for him and for Q. Until the image of R stealing one of them when their backs were turned came to mind. Hmmm, we can’t have that. Q would hate it if he and R played tug of war with a croissant. Which also meant he’d need to get an additional coffee along with his intended single cup and a cup of tea for Q. He grumbled to himself. When did he become afraid of two women? Oh dear, should he have gotten Moneypenny something? He paused in thought. No, he was heading to Q branch and he wasn’t on duty so...no. If she gave him the look, he’d make it up to her...maybe. One had to keep Miss Moneypenny on her toes. 

With his loot in hand, he walked, not limped, slowly and steadily to the corner across from work and waited for the light to change. A strange sound filled the air, buzzing amidst the normal, general rumble of London traffic.

An even stranger sight appeared or should he say zoomed around the corner. A white Vespa scooter carrying a helmetless driver with a carrier box on the back. Much to his surprise, it was Q. Bond recognized the thick head of hair and the classic nerd style of dressing that Q had somehow learned. Interesting. The scooter pulled up to the light and put-putted rhythmically as it too waited for the light to change. Bond opened his mouth to catch Q’s attention, but another strange sound carried to Bond’s ears distracting him. A not so rhythmic hissing. He glanced around to see if something was leaking, but no...it was coming from the scooter. From the carrier box, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes stared out at him, white fangs revealed as the lips were pulled back as the cat inside hissed at him once more. It was Mr. Jinx. 

Bond tried to say something again, stepping forward, but Q opened the throttle and shot forward at a far faster speed than a scooter that size should have and without a helmet.

The words on his tongue never left his mouth or brain and he shook his head. A few more minutes and he was descending into the depths of Q branch, loot still in hand and warm. Q was also arriving, windswept and red-faced from his ride into the MI6 garages. “Bond?” Q asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, Q.” Bond held out the drinks tray and a tea bag swayed as he shook it at Q. “That one’s yours. Careful, better snag it before R…”

“Ooh, James Bond, did you bring treats! You brought treats! MINIONS! WITNESS ME!” R called out, her fist held in the air as she walked around the pair. 

Bond grimaced at the attention and the twinge it caused to his head, which began to pound from the remnants of his concussion, the activity, and R’s caterwauling. She was wearing a bright red sequined dress with black makeup smeared across her face today; it looked like she was going to war. Bond couldn’t believe Q allowed it, but he made no comment about it. 

“Must you?” Bond asked under his breath. “Of course you must.”

“THE GREAT JAMES BOND HAS BROUGHT THE DARK OVERLORD, HIS HIGH POOHBAHNESS SUSTENANCE!” R gestured to the drinks tray. “WE MUST GIVE THANKS TO THE GREAT JAMES BOND FOR BRINGING LIFE BRINGING GIFTS TO OUR OVERLORD! HE ALSO BROUGHT...what else did you bring?”

Bond held the bag up. “Chocolate croissants.”

“MINIONS, THE GREAT AND POWERFUL JAMES BOND HAS BROUGHT CHOCOLATE CROISSANTS TO THE FEET OF OUR OVERLORD! HIP HIP HOORAY!”

A round of cheers and applause followed her words.

Q’s lips pulled up at one corner and he spent effort trying to lower it, but it was no use as R continued. He merely took his tea from the tray and hid his full smile behind the first sip. It was in that moment that James Bond saw pleasure cross Q’s face for the first time. Usually, with him, it was frustration, anger, pissiness, stroppiness, resignation, sadness...all the unfortunate words that end in -ness. 

R made wiggly fingers at the bag of croissants and pulled one out, her sequins catching the light as her arm moved.

“He also got you a coffee.” Q pointed to the tray. 

“Did he? Well, well, well, Mr. Bond. I was not expecting this!” She snagged the cup of coffee. “Oh, and it’s still hot!” She sniffed it. “Ooooh, it’s just how I like my souls. Dark and hot with the still beating blood of my enemies. Mmm.” She marched off, with her cup filled with dark soul material above her head and her croissant halfway in her mouth. “Mmmmmppphfdlsdkjd!”

“Ooookay.” Bond wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Good to know.” 

Q laughed. Q actually laughed. Bond glanced at him from. The laughter was a good look on Q, it showed his teeth and crinkled the skin around his eyes and cheeks, showing deeper furrows than Bond expected. It looked as if Q had laughed a lot in his life, but lately hadn’t seen much action. He thought back to all the frowns he’d seen on that young face. Without thinking, he brought a hand up aaaaaaaaaa…”Agh!” Bond jumped as something pierced his leg causing numbing pain to shoot upwards. He hopped up and down on his one good foot. “What the fuck? Ow, ow ow!”

“Bond! Are you okay?” Q dropped his cup of tea in surprise and knelt to inspect Bond.

The minions glanced about curiously.

“I’m fine,” Bond gritted out.

“You’re bleeding!” Q said, prodding at Bond’s leg. “What was that?”

“’Tis but a flesh wound.” Bond’s teeth bit down against the pain and numbing sensation and his headache and his already existing wounds flaring up. Perhaps today was a good day to die. “Ow.”

Q sat back on his haunches and put his fists on his hips. “A Monty Python reference? At a time like this?”

“I’m okay, Q, unless you have some strange assassin lurking through Q branch, it looks as if...ow!” Bond took the bull by the horns and fought to dig out the object that had pierced his leg. 

“Hang on, hang on!” Q hissed at him, “Let me. You’ve already got enough damage.” He gripped Bond’s bad leg with one hand and pulled at the torn fabric. “Hmm, I think I can get this. Hold on. Sit.” Q pointed to the chair at the closest desk and Bond limped over to it as Q rushed to grab the first aid kit off the wall.

“You okay there, boss?” R called from across the room, her mouth filled with a chocolate croissant.

“I’m okay. Just...need a bandaid,” Q replied to her questioning and hurried back to where Bond was sitting.

“My leg is going numb,” Bond murmured quietly. “Is that normal?”

Q made a strange sound, something between a sigh of frustration and the sound a helium balloon makes. “Maybe, I won’t know until I see what we’re dealing with.” Q took the tweezers from the kit and tore open an alcohol swab to sterilize it. “This might hurt,” Q said as he pinched the tweezers together.

Bond rolled his eyes. “Oh, be gentle with me.”

“Prat.” Q quickly bent over Bond’s lap and parted the fabric over the wound and poked and prodded as Bond hissed above him. “Interesting.”

“Q, I’d appreciate it if you could hurry. As much as I like you in this position…”

Q glanced up, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration and confusion. “What?” The tweezers hovered just over Bond’s thigh as enlightenment finally dawned in Q’s eyes. “Arse. You wish you had me in this position.”

Bond let out a pained laugh. “Hmm, just so. Anyway, be a good boy and hurry it up!” Bond hissed out the last part, he really was in a lot of pain and the numbing was creeping further up his thigh. 

“Right. Ah! Got it!” Q held up his prize. “Shit.”

“What? What is it?” Bond asked, relieved that whatever had hit him had been removed. He adjusted his trouser leg.

“It’s from our new paralyzation projectile pen prototype!” Q exclaimed. “Drat!” The little metal nub popped out of the tweezers and dropped onto the floor. Q dropped to his knees and scrabbled around for it. “Got it again!” Bond snagged Q by the wrist that held his captured prize and pulled Q up. “Urk!” Q grunted in surprise.

“And how did it end up in my leg?” Bond asked. 

“I don’t know. It should have been locked in my office. This is most unusual and a security risk. You should probably see medical.”

Bond shivered at the thought. “Is this permanent?”

Q shook his head. “No, it’s temporary, but still, you should see them. I can’t imagine what this will have done to whatever cocktail of meds they might have you on.”

Bond sighed. “Maybe. In a bit. Just go and figure out what other assassins you have lurking about. If you need me, I’ll be here drinking my coffee. Just waiting for the sensation to come back.”

“Alright,” Q said. “Call me if you need me. Call me if you leave Q branch, I do feel a bit responsible for this. Just a tad.”

“Well, you didn’t shoot me.”

“No, but let me know when you leave. That’s an order, 007.” Q shook a finger at Bond. “Remember, it’s just a prototype, we haven’t live tested it yet.”

“Until today.”

“Oh well. Yes. That.” Q hesitated. “Would, er...you mind...um?”

“I’ll write a report for you on its effects as soon as possible,” Bond said, anticipating the Quartermaster’s question and quest for knowledge.

Q flashed a grin at him before bulldozing his way through the branch to uncover the lurking assassin. Unfortunately, Bond didn’t have to move an inch, to find his would-be assassin.


	6. Chapter 6

A rumbling purr caught Bond’s attention. Slowly, Bond turned his head to see Mr. Jinx hop up on the table next to him and drop a small metal pen on the table. It made a metallic plink as it landed. “Oh dear, does it hurt much? You poor sweet thing.”

The cat was absolutely NOT talking. Nope. No, it wasn’t. Cats didn’t talk. Bond turned away, but Mr. Jinx just laughed. “Let me guess, you’re debating about whether or not I’m actually talking to you? How predictable.”

“Cats don’t talk.”

Mr. Jinx laughed and his eyes narrowed on Bond. “We can, when we want to. Now tell me, are you still a bit numb? I had hoped there would be a more...fatal effect after I shot you.”

“You?”

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. That looks painful,” Mr. Jinx purred as he rubbed his head against Bond’s arm and worked his way to his thigh and bumped his head against it. “So painful.” Mr. Jinx swiped at the wound, claws catching on the edges of raw skin.

Bond hissed and jerked away. Thanks to the numbing feature, Bond barely felt the scratch. However his trousers tore more and now there were claw marks striping the wound, which would certainly hurt later. “Why you...little shit!”

Mr. Jinx laughed and sat back on his haunches and licked his bloody paw delicately. His tail waved back and forth. “Mmmm, you taste delicious as well. It’s a shame you have to die. I had hoped that I had selected the highest dose, but either you’re built to withstand murder attempts or the Quartermaster has some improvements to do.”

“Murder attempts?” Bond asked as he blinked curiously at the cat. What on earth was happening he wondered to himself as he rubbed the back of his head. Surely this must all be in his imagination. Cats did NOT speak. They also didn’t attempt ‘murder’ so to speak. They killed mice and other small things, but humans? Too big of a target, usually.

“Why yes, Mr. Bond. I did tell you that, didn’t I? My my, is your head bothering you? Have you become senile from your concussion.” The cat tutted. The cat actually tutted. “Well, you don’t have long to live, so you’ll never have to worry about reaching those twilight years. Now, if you excuse me, I shall go plan some more and come back with something deadlier.”

“Hold on!” Bond snatched Mr. Jinx up by the scruff of his neck and received a hiss and a surprised yowl for his efforts. Mr. Jinx glared up at him as Bond lifted him high enough off of the desk to be helpless. They entered into an epic staring contest, cat vs man as Bond tried to wrap his head around the fact that yes, the damn cat COULD talk and was talking...to him. “I’m one thing, but what do you want with Q?” Mr. Jinx didn’t answer, he stubbornly continued to growl at Bond. “Answer me!” Bond adjusted his grip and gave a little shake. Mr. Jinx hissed again.

“BOND!” Q’s voice rang out from across Q branch. “PUT MR. JINX DOWN! WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH YOU!?” Q marched steadily across the room, minions scattered in his wake. Papers fluttered to the floor as Q bustled forward to save his cat.

“He tried to kill me!” Bond’s voice came out more indignant than he had expected.

Q let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly Bond, it’s a cat. How was a cat trying to kill you?”  
“He shot me with the pen!” Bond growled down at Mr. Jinx, who was beginning to make pitiful mewling sounds. “Stop that. Tell him.” 

“Meow.” Mr. Jinx let out the most pitiful sound Bond had ever heard; even he felt a bit sorry for him.

Q’s hand gripped Bond’s wrist. “Let him go, Bond, I won’t play tug of war with a live animal and an assassin. I know it wouldn’t end prettily.”

Bond refused to let go. “No, something's not right. Where did you get this...thing?”

“It’s a cat, Bond. C-A-T. Just a cat. I adopted him from a cat cafe a few days ago, alright. Let Mr. Jinx go,” Q said softly, his hand gentling on Bond’s wrist, as if he were trying to calm him down. Q’s other hand went to Bond’s fingers. The delicate digits tapped along Bond’s hand as if looking for a release of sorts. “Let him go.”

Bond shook his head. “You don’t understand. He tried to kill me, he told me so. He’s trying to get to you!”

Q went very still and his voice went very quiet. “Bond, cats can’t talk.”

“This one can.” Bond nodded at Mr. Jinx. 

“No, Bond. James.”

Bond looked up at the use of his first name. Q never used first names unless it was to use your whole name as your mother did when you were in trouble. If he ever resorted to using ALL of your names, you knew you were in deep shit. 

“Listen to me. You need to go to medical. Cats don’t talk, I think there’s something wrong with—”

“Me, you think there’s something wrong with me. I thought there was something wrong with me too, until this little shit tried to shoot me and he talked again.”

“Again?” Q asked. His eyes narrowed, gaze sharpening he focused on Bond. Not as a friend, but as his superior, his quartermaster, assessing an agent. “When did you first hear him talk? Let him go while you tell me.”

Bond wanted to refuse letting Mr. Jinx go, but they had the room full of minions rapt attention. He glanced around, noticing the murmurs passing between them. R had forgotten she had food and drink in hand and was just staring at the two of them and then down to the cat Bond held in his clutches. “Um. I think. Yes.” Bond eased his hand off of the back of Mr. Jinx’s neck. Mr. Jinx retaliated swiftly and swiped at Bond with a paw, slashing his hand and then leaping off the desk and vanishing in the way that only cats could do. Swiftly, efficiently and silently. Now Bond didn’t know where the cat would appear next. His skin prickled with sweat.

“Bond. When did you first hear him talk?” Q repeated himself and waited for Bond’s answer.

“After I got back,” Bond murmured as he brought up his hand to examine the wound.

Q rubbed a hand down his face. “I should have noticed. I should have seen something was off.”

Bond gripped his shoulder. “It’s not everyday a cat talks. Could it be a robot? Some sort of A.I.?”

“Bond. It’s a cat. A legitimate, real live cat.” 

Uh oh, Q had that look on his face. That one where your brow furrows, your mouth turns down and you wonder if the person you’re talking to is crazy or not. Was he crazy. No, the cat had talked? Had someone convinced Q that it was a real cat, when it was in fact some sort of advanced A.I., specifically placed here to spy on them and Q? Q’s face still had that look on it and now he was looking past Bond. 

“Come here, Mr. Jinx. Come here!” Q called to the cat. “Come show Mr. Bond that you’re perfectly harmless. Come on, here kitty!” Q knelt down in front of a row of cabinets. Books and notes all tossed about haphazardly, he tried to focus on the titles, but his head kept hurting. A rumbling purr came from below the cabinet and Q managed to snag Mr. Jinx.

“Q, stop, that’s not a real cat.”

“Mr. Jinx, say hello to Mr. Bond.”

Bond waited, expecting the cat to actually talk to him, instead it lifted its large eyes to him and meowed. The little fucker meowed. Bond scowled at Mr. Jinx. “You know bloody damn well how to say ‘Hello, Mr. Bond’ you little fucker. Now talk!” Bond made a grab for Mr. Jinx, but the cat swiped at his hand, leaving a set of claw marks as it leaped out of Q’s hands.

“Bond!”

“That’s not a cat, that’s a robot, sent here to kill you and take over MI6!” Bond ran after the cat, ignoring the warbling cries of the minions as he chased after their new furry friend. His head twinged and his body ached as his feet hit the floor. “Q, don’t you understand? It’s not a normal cat! It’s threatened to kill me twice. It’s after you!” Bond overturned a desk in his haste to get to Mr. Jinx. “He talks, I swear. You need to X-ray him or something. Do what you do best and get to the bottom of—” Bond slapped a hand to his ass. “What?” He wrapped his hands around the cold cylinder that was sticking out of his bum. “Q?” His vision started to blur as Q approached him steadily, gun in hand, his arm striped with cat scratches. “You’re trying to kill me?” Bond staggered as his knees became watery.

“No, Bond. I’m trying to help you. You’re not well.”

“You shot me?” Bond dropped to one knee, his voice slurring. He had to lie down, but he didn’t want to.

“I had to. It’s just a tranquilizer. You’ll be alright, once we get you to medical.”

Bond slumped onto his side and Q rolled him over to his back. Everything was blurry now. There were noises happening all around him, swirls of color. R was just a big splotch of red and black as she hovered over Q’s shoulder, her smile nearly feral in her face. Bond slowly turned his head at the low rumble of purr that filled his ears. Mr. Jinx appeared out of thin air and meowed once, twice before jumping up and settling himself on top of his chest. He could hear Q in the distance.

“Bond? Bond. Hold on.”

Bond shook his head, or at least he tried to. His chest grew cold and tight at the betrayal. Betrayal.

“Call medical. Call psych. He’s had a break. Tell them to bring restraints.” Q continued giving orders.

“Q?” It was M’s voice. 

M? Someone must have contacted him. “M?” It came out slurred and drawn out. “Help.”

Mr. Jinx laughed and then had the nerve to bump against his chin as he drifted off and then purr directly into his ear. “I told you Mr. Bond, it was just a matter of time and you’ve done the hard work. Soon, you’ll be all tied up in a nice, neat white jacket and locked away without me ever having to lift a finger or a paw.”

As he faded away, his vision filled with white. “No,” Bond whispered as his body and mind failed him. “No!”


	7. Chapter 7

“No!” Bond thrashed and the purring bulk on his chest was immediately lifted as he fought against—

“James?”

“He talks! Q, he talks!” Bond lunged for Q, desperate for him to believe him. Why didn’t anyone believe him. Why did everything hurt? Why was it dark, was he blind?

“Sssh. James. It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. 1, 2, 3, wake up. 1, 2, 3, wake up. 1, 2, 3, wake up. Alexa, lights to 30 percent.”

Bond’s chest heaved with effort as Q’s familiar voice finally made it’s way through his panic and low light filled the room. Q was motionless underneath him, pale, slightly frightened and squinting without his glasses.

“Q?”

“Yes. Alexa, play Jupiter by Holst.” Q issued the order and familiar orchestral music softly filled the air.

“Q?” Bond backed off, just a little bit. He was very confused.

Q sighed and puffed air out of his lips and into Bond’s face. “Yes, it’s me, you dolt. Who else would put up with you?”

Bond smoothed a hand over Q’s curls, petting them to soothe both himself and Q. “I could think of a few.” He received a pinch for his words. “Ow.”

“Better?” Q asked as he slowly shifted and reached for his glasses on his bedside table, jumbled with charging cords, chapstick, an alarm clock and books.

Bond dropped his head down onto Q’s chest and listened to his heartbeat for a few moments. “Yes.” He tried to roll away, go back to sleep, pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened, but strong fingers gripped him and held him close.

“What was it this time?”

“Just a dream.” One Bond didn’t want to revisit.

“I’d say it was more nightmare than a dream. Don’t make me mention all the literature psych has sent me via email and by little paper brochures. I have quite a collection now.”

Bond shuddered at the thought. “I’d rather hope you wouldn’t.”

“Ah, one of those again?” Q asked, tapping the fingers of one hand along Bond’s arm. He moved that hand to place it on top of Bond’s head.

“Yes.” Bond could feel Q’s hand kneading through the drying sweat as it cooled against his skin.

“Any particular scenario you want to talk about?” Q asked. He placed a kiss on the top of Bond’s head.

“No.” That only got a poke in the ribs from Q.

“Quid pro quo.”

Bond heaved out a very dramatic sigh. “A cat tried to kill me and no one believed me.”

“A cat?”

“Your cat, to be specific.” Bond dug his chin into Q’s chest.

Meow!

Bond glanced up quickly, triggered, and moved too fast for Q. He felt his hair pull and Q’s nails bite into his skin as Q tried to keep hold of him. His gun was in his hands before any of them could blink, much less the fluffy grey menace cleaning itself at the foot of the bed.

“What the fuck? 1, 2, 3, wake up!” Nothing happened. Bond was still stuck in whatever hellish nightmare his mind created for him.

“James. That’s OUR cat. Put the gun away.” Q sat up and reached for his glasses to place them on his nose.

“What?” Bond asked. “What do you mean that’s our cat. We don’t have a cat.” He lowered the gun and stared mesmerized at the licking fluffball. 

Q sighed. “I told you. You were out on mission and Moneypenny sent me to a cat cafe. She thought I was lonely. You must have seen Mr. Jinx when you came in. He’s always begging for food. I had to put him on a diet.”

Bond glanced sideways at Q. “Hmm. So I did. I think he was on the kitchen table when I came in.” He scratched the side of his nose. “So, Moneypenny doesn’t know? About us?”

Q shrugged. “I didn’t tell her.” He fiddled with the bed sheets. “Of course, she might know something about us. She kept talking about old dogs and getting laid.”

Bond snorted. “Of course she was. Well, let her keep guessing then. That can be her punishment for making you get this thing.”

“It’s not a thing. It’s our...I mean Mr. Jinx is our cat. I put both our names on the paperwork. He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

Bond set his gun back in the holster tucked behind his night stand. “He’s glorious,” Bond said as he kissed the tip of Q’s exposed shoulder and traced the collarbone with his tongue.

“Flatterer,” Q murmured and tucked his chin to his chest to steal a kiss.

“Hmmm.” Bond continued his small kisses, pushing Q back into their cooling nest of bedsheets. He felt something move about his calves and glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like Mr. Jinx has a bit of a voyeuristic side to him.” 

Q peeked over Bond’s shoulder and sighed. “Not in front of the children, James.” He jerked at the laugh Bond let go into the space between his neck and shoulder. 

Unashamedly, Bond got up and strode bare-arsed to the end of the bed and snagged Mr. Jinx by the scruff of his neck and supported his hind legs.

Meow!

“Sssh, darling. It’ll be but for a moment.”

“Oh will it?” Q asked from his place in the bed. A pillow landed close to Bond’s retreating feet as he walked to the bedroom door and deposited Mr. Jinx on the other side and shut the door quickly.

He slowly prowled back to the side of the bed. “Now, how should you make it up to me? You adopted the cat...our cat that gave me a nightmare and I didn’t kill him. Surely I’ve been a good boy.”

Q considered him briefly, his eyes dropping down and then flicking back up. “Hmmm, how about a nice game of chess?”

Bond would never forget the squeal of laughter Q made as he launched himself across the bed.

\--The End--


End file.
